1. Disgust


    Date: 10/5/2014, Categories: Straight Sex, Author: BradleyStoke, Rating: 6, Source: LushStories

    It was with nothing but disgust that Susan regarded the musicians whose subtle and accomplished performance was so enrapturing most of the other guests. Susan was conscious that she was a fraud in so many ways and her presence at the recital a sham. It was the music she should be appreciating rather than the musicians. She should be somehow transported to the higher plane that Franz Schubert had prepared for listeners to his String Quartet No. 14 in D minor : otherwise known as Death and the Maiden. Instead, her thoughts were chiefly focused on the huge bald spot in the middle of the cellist’s pate. On the fringe and at the back his brown hair was abundant, but in the midst of this luxuriance was an obscene expanse of pink baldness His head was bowed while he scraped his bow back and forth across the cello’s strings, and all Susan could concentrate on was this naked excrescence that was in such total contrast to the lank long hair that flowed around the tonsure and over his shoulders. All four musicians in the string ensemble were equally as disgusting to behold in one way or another. The man playing the viola was so fat that it was only by a miracle that the buttons of his white shirt dammed in a bloated discharge of pink belly that would otherwise overflow onto his lap. With every backward thrust of his bow, a hairy jelly-like engorgement extruded from between the straining buttons. The first violin was played by a man who had one eye at least an inch below the other and ...
    such an apology for a beard that it could only be excused insofar as it obscured his receding chin. And as for the other violinist—the only woman in the quartet—however unprepossessing her musical colleagues might be, could even they stomach the horror of ever having to fuck her? From her scrawny neck to her swollen ankles, the entire length of her body was shapeless and plain. Her skin was pale and blotchy. Her greying hair was tied back in a severe bow. And, only partly obscured by the frame of her unfashionable glasses, her left cheek was overshadowed by a nauseatingly prominent brown mole. Fuck! Susan was sure she could see three long sprouting strands of black hair. Couldn’t the woman have at least plucked them out before she ventured into a public space? The musicians were clearly in some kind of rapture as they scraped their bows back and forth. Their bodies were so tense and energetic that they each resembled some kind of large insect as their arms jerked backwards and forwards. Perhaps the music was good. Maybe it was the greatest music that had ever been performed—Susan was in no way qualified to pass judgment—but while she remained transfixed by the sheer ugliness and ungainliness of the musicians she could make no sense of the actual music at all: whether it was Allegro, Andante or Scherzo. The printed sheet promised that the fourth movement, after which all this torture would be over, would be a Presto, whatever that was. She hoped it would sort of invoke a sense ...
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